
1 n 



Class_/y35^7 

Book •X's-S'A 

Gopyrightlf /£i 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



\£&IS 




MEREDITH NOOLSOM 



I N D I AN AP OLI 5 

THE BOBBS'MERRJLl COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 1906 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 

April 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

MAY 25 1906 

•„ Copyright Entry „ 
COPY B. 






56 



TO JAMES WHIT CO MB RILEY 

YOU came when song itself was tame, 
Though many strove with idle aim 
Like moths about the sacred -flame 

On ignorant wing; 
You scorned, in beaten trails of fame, 
To walk and sing. 

You borrowed not Apollo's sign, 

Affixed to many a lifeless line; 

You sought not the dim shadowy Nine 

Obscure, remote: 
You wove the human and divine 

In one clear note! 

You would not strive with them that deign 
To seek on chaff-strewn floors for grain, 
And even for trampled husks are fain, 

But, in the field, 
You strove with infinite care to gain 

Life's golden yield. 



You sought no high and strenuous key 
To mark your new blithe minstrelsy, 
Invoked no shrine on bended knee, 

In Greece or Rome, 
But, all un gyved, your spirit free 

Sang most of home! 

In the lone farm-house you laid bare 
The drama of its toil and care, 
But making love triumphant there 

Rise strong and sweet, 
Like herbs that scent the summer air, 

Bruised 'neath our feet. 

'Twas your voice sang the yet unsung 

Faith of a people brave and young 

To whose rude speech a wild tang clung, 

Of clean earth born, — 
The variant Saxon of our tongue 

You did not scorn! 



You heard, in dewy haunts of spring, 
The treble note of childhood ring, — 
The homing stroke you taught its wing 

That you, again, 
Might woo that vagrant note and sing 

Once more its strain. 

Not mine the right to sing your praise 
Nor twine for you the deathless bays, 
But mine to walk in lighted ways 

Lured by your rhyme, 
Glad for the faith through faithless days 

You shield from Time. 

And you still hold, as at the start, 
That which God set for you apart — 
Faith, Love and Trust, that in your heart 

Keep its song pure, 
And the magician gift of art, 

And these endure! 



THANKS ARE DUE TO THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, THE 
CENTURY MAGAZINE, HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY 
MAGAZINE, AND THE READER FOR PERMISSION 
TO REPUBLISH CERTAIN POEMS IN THIS VOLUME 



CONTENTS 

Aileen 108 

April Easter, An 24 

Asphodel 25 

At the Monument 97 

Bellona 58 

"Bless Thou the Guns" 53 

Blind Boys, The 102 

Charm 10 

Chords I3 

Cuba 50 

Dead Archer, The 8 ? 

Derelict 76 

Earth, The 43 

Escheat 32 

For a Pioneer's Memorial 68 

From Bethlehem to Calvary 63 

God Save the State! 41 

Grace Chimes 75 

Heart of the Bugle, The 45 

Horatio at Elsinore 99 

Horns, The 56 

In the Great Pastures 21 

In the Street 104 

"In Winter I Was Born" 37 

Ireland ' ® 

John Tyndall 85 

Labor and Art 101 

Love's Music 29 

Marjorie 98 



Contents — Continued 




Mea Culpa 


65 


Memory 


82 


Miriam: At a Concert 


106 


New Year's Collect 


61 


News 


66 


Old Guidon, An 


44 


Orchards By the Sea 


69 


Prayer of the Hill-Country, A 


16 


Psalms in the Mountains, The 


19 


Shadow Lines 


34 


Shadow of the Rockies, A 


22 


"She Gathers Roses" 


92 


Shiloh 


48 


Simplicity 


23 


Spirit of the Mountains, The 


18 


Tenant, A 


60 


To a Debutante 


28 


To the Seasons 


110 


Unmapped 


83 


Valley of Vision, The 


9 


Voices of Children 


95 


Watching the World Go By 


73 


Wayward Muse, The 


79 


West 


30 


Where Four Winds Meet 


1 


Wind at Whitsuntide, The 


4 


Wind Patrol, The 


14 


Winter Wind in the Rockies, The 


39 


Wide Margins 


12 


Youth and Winter 


35 



POEMS 



WHERE FOUR WINDS MEET 

FROM homes beyond the farthest space 
The winds come to their trysting-place. 
Swiftly from north, east, south and west 
Assembled on some lonely crest, 
Or gathered where the murmuring pines 
Have summoned them by secret signs, 
They tell of journeys over seas 
And whisper of earth's mysteries. 
They know why strong sap-currents sing 
Through northern trees in earliest spring, 
And why bold flowers put bravely forth 
In snowy woodlands of the north. 
Such things he learns whose guided feet 
May find the place where four winds meet. 

It is not true the winds are foes, 
Though some bring buds and some bring snows ; 
For they divide the earth's estate 

1 



As friendly kings might arbitrate, 

And each is sovereign any hour 

The mighty land is in its power. 

They find delight in bold surprise 

And would defeat man's prophecies. 

Ships put not forth, seeds are not sown 

Until the favoring gales have blown; 

The destinies of nations wait 

The winds that ruin or create. 

These secret things he learns whose feet 

May find the place where four winds meet. 

Through summer woods at night's high tide 
Lone winds from far horizons ride, — 
So quickly gone, so faint of wing, 
Ear scarce may catch their whispering. 
And no one knows from what far home 
Those idle messengers may roam, 
Nor any more may seek to gain 
Their purpose from the weather-vane ! 
But swift those tides unchallenged flow 
Where only silent trees bend low — 

9, 



A stir of leaves, a sudden hush, 
A thrill runs through the underbrush, 
Then, he who runs with winged feet, 
May find the place where four winds meet 

Now I have sped in many a race 
To find this secret trysting-place ; 
North, east, south, west have I been led, 
Sometimes in hope but oft in dread, 
Fearing to pause yet scorning rest, 
Pursuing ceaselessly my quest, 
For, whether on the land it be 
Or foamy meadow of the sea 
I find at last the tryst, lo, there 
The tyrant captains of the air 
Shall yield to me each plot and plan 
By which they rule the world, and man 
Thenceforth may walk with careless feet, 
Indifferent where the four winds meet. 



3 



THE WIND AT WHITSUNTIDE 

I 

MAN names the stars across the gulfs of space 
And calls the sea to tribute, and doth mock 
The storm and lightning and the earthquake 

shock, 
And lifts from lonely peaks 
Toward the stars his still triumphant face; 
But the far-driven, pathless winds of God 
He still in ignorance seeks, 

Crying his whence and whither with vain breath 
Where in soft airs the tranquil gardens nod, 
Or pondering the wind's will 
Along the pine-hung hill 

And where the trumpet seas roll round the gates 
of death. 

II 

First of the Blessed Three, — 
The adored, august and mighty Trinity — • 
Jehovah to earth came 

4 



In mystery and awe, 

And gave to Israel out of cloud and flame 

His iron-harsh, immitigable law 

That for the rough, new-builded world was meet. 

But man still restless yearned 

For groves of peace whose springs should 

bubble sweet; 
Nor smoking altars satisfied his need, 
Nor fat of richest pastures sacrificed, 
And Heaven seemed far indeed, — 
A fortress grim on an embattled slope, 
Where hotly on dull eyes the shining bastions 

burned. 
'Twas then the Christ 
With love renewed man's hope, 
Bringing the ark of peace down from the skies, 
And out of golden deeds uprearing faith anew; 
Nor Sinai's lightnings blinded more man's eyes, 
But gentleness was crowned and meekness 

blessed, 
While brighter shone the goal 
To mankind seeking rest — 

5 



The long-sought haven of the laboring soul, 
In Christ alone possessed; 
And down the ages the bright marvel grew 
That what is just and beautiful and true 
Within the broad dome of near Heaven lies. 

Ill 

Thus of the Three 
The high-ordained mysterious Trinity, 
Jehovah and the Son 
Man's need hath earthward won; 
But who has seen or heard 
The last, the majestic and ineffable One 
And known His audible word? 
To-night, midway of seas, 

Out of the star-hung prairies glad with corn, — 
Out of the deep-pulsed, steady heart of Time, 
Out of the golden pillars of the morn 
A great wind thundered by, 
Voicing a hymn in deep sonorous rhyme, 
And tossed in billows the June-vestured trees. 
Across the odorous, sweet, low-murmuring night 

6 



I marked its urgent flight, 

Then heard its laggard legion round me wake 
and sigh. 
That wind, methought, may be 
Breath of the brooding and exalted One 
Who cometh in secrecy, 

Far-ranging the bright track of star and sun! 
Holier is earth for every wind that blows; 
The challenged ocean 'mid its tumult sings 
Exultant in God's might, 
And on the mountain height 
The retreating tempest flings 
The gleaming vesture of divine repose. 

IV 

O Winds, far-driven and lost 
In the uncharted ether's high demesne, 
Com'st thou to greet 

Earth newly with the tongues of Pentecost? 
Is't thus the Paraclete, 
Veiled from earth's sealed eyes, 
Doth from high Heaven lean 

7 



Brooding o'er earth and sea? 

O Winds, pour over me 

Out of thy vast inviolable treasury 

Thy winnowing, cleansing tide! 

Anoint me from thy azure spaces wide! 

Nearer than man's surmise 

The Spirit of Spirits doth round about us 

bide, — 
The manifest breath and presence of the Three ! 
Thus doth Jehovah out of space 
Again with man speak face to face; 
And thus o'er earth Christ breathes again 
The peace of the Judean plain, — 
The hope of all this earth may be! 
And thus o'er plains and hills 
The tides of the four winds flow; 
Thus the glad earth thrills 
When the trumpets of Heaven blow ; 
And messengers earthward winging 
On marvelous errands fly ; 
While the world-heart wakes to singing 
And the Spirit of God is nigh! 

8 



THE VALLEY OF VISION 
Isaiah XXII, 1 and 5 

OVER what peaks does it lie, the wonderful 
Valley of Vision, 
Withholden afar in the realm of the Spirit of 

Rest? 
Is it a verdurous cleft in the shadowy moun- 
tains elysian, 
Hidden by mist and cloud where the suns 
go down in the west? 

I never may find the place, the wonderful 

Valley of Vision, 

Though seeking for long the path that leads 

to its singing streams ; 

The mountains unyielding stand, they laugh at 

my search in derision, 

Yet ever in faith I seek the hidden Valley of 

Dreams. 

9 



CHARM 

[T is a presence sweet and rare, 
-*- A something oft attained by Art, 
Yet oft possessed, all unaware, 

By folk of simple mind and heart. 

And he that has it can not pass 
The secret on with gold or name; 

It vanishes like dew on grass, 
Or heat that hovers over flame. 

In books that man but little seeks, 
Neglected or forgotten long, 

This living essence dwells, and speaks 
In happy rhymes of deathless song. 

The subtlest of all mystic things, 

'Tis strange indeed that it should be, 

When worn by poets, beggars, kings, 
The garment of Simplicity. 
10 



And you that seek it never find, 
And you that have it never tell; 

And all that strive to catch and bind 
Can only startle and dispel. 



11 



WIDE MARGINS 

[^RINT not my Book of Days, I pray, 
-■" On meager page, in type compact, 
Lest the Great Reader's calm eye stray 
Skippingly through from fact to fact ; 

But let there be a liberal space, 

At least 'twixt lines where ill is writ, 

That I with tempering hand may trace 
A word to dull the edge of it. 

And save for me a margin wide 
Where I may scribble at my ease 

Elucidative note and guide 
Of most adroit apologies ! 



12 



CHORDS 

THOUGHTS of deep pine-woods and of 
chanting seas 
Follow the magic hand-touch on the keys ; 
Now 'tis the violins that loudest cry, 
And now in saddest key the 'cellos sigh, 
Blent with the lonely challenge of the horn, 
Echoed, in seeming, from some height forlorn. 
Again, the drums and viols with sullen roar 
Break with their sound-waves on the mind's 

dim shore, 
And sullenly die away. "Tis then there come 
Out from the cymbal-clash and roll of drum 
Chords that are love and life, and even the 

sharp, 
Hard pain of death — chords of the golden harp. 



13 



THE WIND PATROL 

IVT^ g uar d ventures to ask toll 
-*» * Of the wind's midnight patrol, 
And no eyes, however keen, 
Have its flying legion seen; 
Yet a thousand times and one 
I have heard the vanguard run ! 
In the peaceful summer night 
Or when snows lie cold and white, 
From their far unmapped abode, 
In contempt of beaten road 
Come the wind men like a breath, 
Fatefully and swift as Death. 
Sometimes with a battle clash 
Through the forest trees they dash; 
And at other times they creep 
Like a dream through vales of sleep. 
Now these midnight riders own 
Charms no daylight wind has known, 

14 



Whether leaving in their wake 
Needful rain or soft snowflake, 
Or, the earliest night of spring, 
Waking all the sap to sing! 
Elms and beeches in my wood 
Long as guard for me have stood; 
But across their barricade 
Ride the wind men unafraid, 
And a fearful challenge roar 
As they charge my pane and door. 
Then, before the house grows still, 
They have gained the farthest hill 
Of my quiet valley's marge, 
Thence again to charge and charge! 



15 



A PRAYER OF THE HILL-COUNTRY 

And the strength of the hills is his also. 

IFT me, O Lord, above the level plain, 
-■ — « Beyond the cities where life throbs and 

thrills, 
And in the cool airs let my spirit gain 

The stable strength and courage of Thy hills. 

They are Thy secret dwelling-places, Lord! 

Like Thy majestic prophets, old and hoar, 
They stand assembled in divine accord, 

Thy sign of 'stablished power forevermore. 

Here peace finds refuge from ignoble wars, 
And faith, triumphant, builds in snow and 
rime, 
Near the broad highways of the greater stars, 
Above the tide-line of the seas of time. 

16 



Lead me yet farther, Lord, to peaks more clear, 
Until the clouds like shining meadows lie, 

Where through the deeps of silence I may hear 
The thunder of Thy legions marching by. 



17 



THE SPIRIT OF MOUNTAINS 

SPIRIT of mountains that elusive leaps 
From high-walled canon to unguarded 
height, 
Only the thought may follow your winged 
flight 
Where the swift torrent, down the rocky steeps, 
A flashing line of spray and vapor sweeps, 
And through dim caverns bears the noonday 

light, — 
Or in the august and tranquil summer night, 
Among cloud harbors where the lightning sleeps. 

Spirit of mountains ! Freest of all free things, 
Let me the star-companioned ridges climb 

With heart as strong as the bold eagle's wings ! 
Guide me to those serener slopes where Time 

Less harsh the immelodious challenge rings, 

And song is truth, and truth is sweet like 

rhyme ! 

18 



THE PSALMS IN THE MOUNTAINS 

T N the great ocean's thunder 
-*■ I heard the old songs ring, 
I heard them in the prairies 

Amid the grasses sing; 
The murmur of the pine-wood 

With Israel's hymns was sweet, 
And through the little hills I heard 

Their solemn rhythm beat. 

But oh, 'twas in the mountains 

Their mystery held me thrall! — 
Where the four winds of heaven 

Sent forth their challenge call, 
With martial trumpets thrilling 

The rough-hewn brawny range, 
And through dark canons chanting 

The spirit of all change. 
19 



The cattle of the foot-hills 

In gathering snow stood deep ; 
The shepherds through white meadows 

Went stumbling for their sheep ; 
And where the lonely hamlet 

Slept 'neath stern mountain walls, 
The winds across the darkness 

Sang hoarse antiphonals. 

'Twas Zion's heart melodious 

That woke the solemn height, 
Till loud the ancient hymnal 

Made glorious the night; — 
Far-sounding notes of triumph 

To grief and wailing ran, 
As Nature's voices uttered 

The cry of God to man. 



20 



IN THE GREAT PASTURES 

Our cattle also shall go with us. 

Exodus AT, 26. 

WHEN the grave twilight moves toward the 
west, 

And the horizons of the plain are blurred, 
I watch, on gradual slope and foot-hill crest, 

The dark line of the herd. 
And something primal through my being thrills, 

For that line met the night when life began! 
And cattle gathered from a thousand hills 

Have kept the trail with man, 
Till their calm eyes his greater iliads hold; 

The wonder-look, the dumb reproof and pain, 
Have followed him since Abram's herds of old 

Darkened the Asian plain. 



21 



A SHADOW OF THE ROCKIES 



* 



THE mountains from my window lie out- 
rolled, 
Their solemn peaks with coronals of snow 
O'er which the fires of dawn and sunset flow, 
And keen, high ridges by fierce winds patrolled. 
With evening comes a mighty shadow cold 
Across my doorway as the sun sinks low, 
And, high above, the loftier summits show 
Faint, as the twilight tames their outlines bold. 

Then from the heights the spirit of repose 
Steals earthward, with the peace that long 
has lain 

Secure amid the deep, untrodden snows — 

A shadow stream, for which my soul is fain, 

That from the towering peak of silence flows, 
And pours its balm upon the toiling plain. 

22 



SIMPLICITY 

IF power were mine to wield control 
Of Time within my heart and soul, 
Saving from ruin and decay 
What I hold dearest, I should pray: 
That I may never cease to be 
Wooed daily by Expectancy; 
That evening shadows in mine eyes 
Dim not the light of new surprise; 
That I may feel, till life be spent, 
Each day the sweet bewilderment 
Of fresh delight in simple things, — 
In snowy winters, golden springs, 
And quicker heart-beats at the thought 
Of all the good that man has wrought. 
But may I never face a dawn 
With all the awe and wonder gone, 
Or in late twilight fail to see 
Charm in the stars' old sorcery. 
23 



AN APRIL EASTER 

THE sun has brought his golden keys 
And opened wide the doors of spring, 
Till earth's a-thrill with mysteries 
Of breaking bud and eager wing. 

I know not where spring's miracle 

In the glad mold was earliest wrought, — 

No more by striving may men tell 
What first was in His holy thought 

When the light seal of sleep He broke, 

And in the darkened sepulcher 
Once more to human sense awoke, 

And felt the life within Him stir. 



24 



ASPHODEL 

ONE night while loitering in some grove of 
sleep 
I saw a hand mysterious unbar 
A gate, that from my heavy eyes did keep 
A raging battle in a region far. 
Then bugles sounded, and within my dream, 
But yet distinct, insistent, came the roar 
Of that strange conflict and the sudden gleam 
Of weapons that a myriad warriors bore 
And on that dust-blurred field 
With sturdy hand did wield. 

Cool was the wood 
In which I stood 

Intent upon that heated plain, and sweet 
Were the dew-laden flowers about my feet, — 

25 



Sky-woven violets and moonflowers wan, 
Roses and hyacinths whereon ne'er fell 
The rival hues of any new day's dawn, 
And oh, the asphodel, the asphodel! 

"Ah, but for power to pass that open gate 
And for the strength to break this hated spell," 
And praying thus I strove against the fate 
That held me prisoner to the asphodel. 
"Why must I see afar the battle rage 
And not be of the armies there that wage 
Such glorious conflict?" And I sought again 
To leave that quiet wood and its soft air 
For the fierce ventures of the shaken plain; 
But the gate closed before my wondering eyes, 
Leaving me gaping, like a child whose hand 
Aids in a trick beyond his vague surmise, 
Vexed with himself, yet fain to understand. 

Then from dream's thrall set free, 
I slowly turned, but yet contentedly, 
To the deep odorous wood 
With its sweet solitude; 

26 



Its roses, hyacinths and lorn, 
Meek moonflowers, fearful of the morn, 
And — oh, I loved it long and well! — 
The asphodel, the asphodel! 

If you were keeper of that gate, if you, 

My friend, could give me entrance to that field 

That I thereon some valorous deed might do, 

So fame to me would yield 

Reward of honor and of gold, 

Would } T ou the way unfold, 

Or I be left my little while to dwell 

A neighbor of the asphodel? 



27 



TO A DEBUTANTE 

AT* OUR dreams have never known a world so 

**• fair 

As this reality of joy and light; 

The springs that o'er your head have winged 

swift flight 

Steal back again with all their fragrance rare 

Of May-time blossoms. On the happy air, 

Viol and harp and horn their burden bright 

Add to the charm of this enchantment night, 

That finds you queen, with none your reign to 
share. 

But through the music's careless march and 
swing, 
Beyond these dancers' forms that drift and 
sway, 
I hear for you a graver measure ring 

Where, far along on your appointed way, 
A girl's heart to a woman's task you bring, 

Serene and pure, amid the troubled day. 

28 



LOVE'S MUSIC 



OVE'S music is not set in simple keys 
Of jingling catches and light melodies. 



L 

But rings in deeper, mightier chords than these. 



Through marvelous symphonies it ebbs and 

flows, 
In choral storms, with martial power it blows, 
And chants in solemn oratorios. 

Like hymns of victory are its pure chords 

blown, 
Or like a bugle's notes that rise alone 
And call, beyond man's thought, to Death's far 

zone. 

Its strength is more mysterious than the tides, 
As, unresisted, through the soul it rides, 
Until in Memory's quiet haven it bides. 

29 



WEST 

NORTH, east, south, west, — 'tis thus geog- 
raphers 
Bound the known earth and for the unknown 
make quest ; 
But I, remembering each sweet way of hers, 
Look only west. 

And less reluctant now that she has gone, 
The golden sun goes down its arching way, 

Bearing to her the welcome light of dawn 
And the new day. 

Such peace, such calm as hers they only find 
Who know life and its surging waters wide, — 

Who dare the deeps and shoals of soul and mind 
At the supremest tide. 

30 



So as each eve the western windows grow 

Bright in the dying rays and discords cease, 

The thought of her becomes an afterglow 
Of joy, calm, peace. 



31 



ESCHEAT 

TO my estate no heirs succeed; 
When I have done with it no man 
Shall find it suited to his need, 
Adapted to his plan. 

The walls for me were built, and when 
I close the door and turn the key 

No one shall enter there again, 
Or rule in place of me. 

This house is all I own ; though poor 
It shelters me, and many a storm 

Has passed it, leaving all secure, 
The inner hearthstone warm. 

But after me no eager kin 

Shall hold my former house in pride; 
No enemy shall enter in 

As tenant to abide. 
32 



The friendly earth is good and sweet 
And kindly to its heart will draw 

Estates like mine when they escheat 
By nature's changeless law. 



33 



w 



SHADOW LINES 

HEN slow the brooding dark around 
you falls, 

Save only as the lamp's rose-mellowed light 
Burns through it, but without dispelling 
quite — 
Trembling along the dim and shadowy walls — 
What fleeting spirit of the evening calls? 

What songs come stealing to you through the 

night 
Along the vistas of brave fancy's flight — 
What story steals from old Romance's halls? 

I can not fathom what these things to you 
May bring; nor what sad thoughts to you 
belong ; 
Nor know I whether rosemary or rue 

Awaits you here or there ; the path is long 
And some things must be false and some be 
true 
And sad strains must be woven in the song. 

34 



YOUTH AND WINTER 

WHEN summer days are long and sweet 
The maples that o'erarch my street, — 
My linden and the crimson rose 
That round my southern window glows, 
Efface the outer world for me, — 
Scarce past the vine-clasped wall I see, — 
Nor longer flight my eyes are led 
Than to my neighbor's canna bed! 
But when the leaves have vanished quite 
New vistas broaden to my sight ; 
December's broken arches give 
Visions less faint and fugitive 
Of Mabel, Grace and Josephine, — 
Who have not yet known seventeen! 
Of Gwendolen, — a few years more 
In her brief audit I must score! — 
And Nora, — she whose teasing eyes 
Make wisdom futile, — and unwise! 

35 



Ah, easy 'tis in summertime 

Within to find thoughts winged for rhyme; 

But when the skies are gray and cold 

And all the summer's tales are told, 

My eyes leap eagerly to greet 

Youth down the long aisles of the street. 

From Mabel, Josephine and Grace 

My pulse derives a quickened pace; 

Hope's vanished hours grow gold again 

Whenever I see Gwendolen; 

And age-won wisdom meetly flies 

From Nora of the teasing eyes. 



36 



"IN WINTER I WAS BORN" 

In winter I was born, 
So all my years I've loved the frost and snow 
And the strong, tireless winds that, passing, 
blow 

A battle note forlorn. 

I love the year's long night. 

The tumult of great storms, the biting air 

Make my heart's summertime, when days are 
fair 

And yield me true delight. 

In winter I was born, 
And as I came so let me pass away, 
Out from the world on a December day 

When the delaying morn 



37 



In the far east shall creep 
Last time for me ; then let the winds I love 
Come from their far-off homes and sing above 

The place where I shall sleep. 



38 



THE WINTER WIND IN THE ROCKIES 

^j NOW-crowned the mighty Babels round me 



rise 



Long the rude towers and battlements have 

rung 
With furious speech, in many a thunderous 
tongue, 
Till a fierce clamor fills the wondering skies. 
Anon, when the discordant chorus dies, 
Low oratorios to the plains are sung, 
Voicing the ages when these peaks were 
young 
And echoed first the wind's confused cries. 

Hark! How at midnight the tumultuous throng 
Blend their harsh dissonance in one deep roar 



39 



Whose note through lonely canons wanders 
long — 
Hymning the north's withholden splendors 

hoar, 
Chanting the stilled sea and the imprisoned 
shore, 
With twice a thousand winters in their song! 



40 



GOD SAVE THE STATE! 

ASK of me not that in the loud acclaim 
^ I join, to laud the day's victorious name, 
Whether your choice or mine, — though I am 

prone 
To plead inexorably for my own, 
And flout your creed as false, proclaim mine 

wise. 
Yet not with man or cause the triumph lies, 
For what has been established, what disproved? 
In the November midnight I am moved 
Less by exultant shouts that o'er the town 
Herald the chief new-laureled for renown, 
Than by the thought that, safe from strife and 

hate, 
August, serene, triumphant lives the State, 
Immutable and steadfast like the hills ! 
Though over it a thousand warring wills 

41 



Storm fitfully, they only prove it strong. 
And you and I, who< prate of error and wrong, 
Hear many a challenge 'neath the citadel 
While the calm sentry answers "All is well," — 
And starward lifts his eyes ! Man's faith in 

man 
Remains the secret still of God's great plan 
Whereof He gave to us the golden key 
That seals our covenant with Liberty 
And makes her holy ark for aye our own, 
To hold for Man and not for men alone ! 
Your hand, my friend! The heavens decree our 

fate; 
Who loses or who wins, God save the State! 

November, 1901^. 



42 



THE EARTH 

WITH gathering years the earth has not 
grown tame, 
In man's firm clasp a mere imprisoned ball, 

Though conquering feet have trodden nearly 
all, 

And even the uncharted has received a name; 

There still loom heights deserving of man's 
aim; 

Forbidding isles still lie beyond his thrall; 

The silent Polar doors heed not his call, 

And inmost tropic wilds he scarce dare claim. 

Yet, when at last the globe is mastered quite, 

And prying man has left no inch unscanned, 

He still must pause before earth's moods of 
might 

That lift the sea and toss the desert sand, — 
That set the dread volcano's torch alight, 

And send strange tremors through the startled 

land. 

43 



AN OLD GUIDON 

THROUGH this torn scarf my father's hand 
Set, 'mid the battle's thunderings, 
More truly I can understand 

The strifes of ancient chiefs and kings. 

Faintly to-day Thermopylae 

In song and story clangs and rings ; 
Shiloh and Kenesaw bring me 

Nearer to all heroic things. 



M 



THE HEART OF THE BUGLE 

1HAVE heard the bugle blown 
Where the southern seas make moan; 
And have followed east and west 
At its trumpeted behest; 
By the mighty mountains' marge 
I have heard it sing the charge, 
Till old battles in my blood 

Were a mighty tide at flood — 

O bugle! 

I have seen the bugler stand 
With the trumpet in his hand, 
When the winter's dawn-light gray 
Brought again reluctant day, 
Very silent, very lone, 
With the whole world for his own, 
Till he woke it with a note 

From the brazen trumpet's throat — 

O bugle! 

45 



Then I saw old battles fade 
Far across the dim parade, 
And a thousand knights went by 
Like a moving tapestry; 
Old crusaders riding fast 
Down dark vistas of the past, 
Worn and broken in their mail 
While the bugle sang them hail — 

O bugle ! 

As within the fort's grim bound 
Swift the bugler made his round, 
Dawn and youth were in the call 
That he sent from wall to wall! 
I saw Troy and Marathon 
In the faint light of the dawn; 
Battles old and battles new — 
Agincourt and Waterloo — 

O bugle ! 

Now my blood more swiftly beats 
Victories and brave defeats; — 
46 



Shiloh passes and I see 

Swing in place a battery 

With plunging horses seared and scourged, 

By an undaunted leader urged, 

'And in that smoke-hung, fire-swept place 

I see — through tears — my father's face — 

O bugle ! 



47 



SHILOH 

THOUGH the blest winds of peace down the 
highways are blowing, 
And blithe birds are singing where bullets 
once sped; — 
Though the wheat and the corn on the old 
fields are growing 
The ground is still hallowed by blood of the 
dead. 

O battery boys, can you hear it, the roaring 
Of great iron engines along the gray lines? 

The bugles sing sweetly; the eagle is soaring 
Where on the far borders your old guidon 
shines. 

On the lumbering caissons you rode to your 

glory ; 

The lanyards were latch-strings that opened 

to fame! 

48 



While the rolling discharges gave rhythm to 
your story, 
Your armor was woven of smoke blent with 
flame. 

Is it riven and faded, or is it still gleaming 
To mark, here the bivouac, and there, bat- 
tle-lines ? 
Wind and sun have been kind, so that still in 
your dreaming 
On life's farthest margin the old guidon 
shines. 



49 



CUBA 

SHALL we who in the mighty west 
Set foot upon a king's decrees 
Let vulture Spain hide in her nest 
The fair pearl of the southern seas ? 

In selfish ease we watch the fight 

And say "How fine their battle-rage!" 

Yet, lending nothing of our might, 
We forfeit our own heritage. 

We mock the Briton's cautious plan 
Amid the Sultan's bloody work, 

But while we prate of love of man, 

May not the Spaniard match the Turk? 

We praised Kossuth. Mazzini's name 
And Garibaldi's warmed like wine; 

Remembering them, 'tis to our shame 
We aid not Cuba's wavering line! 

50 



I know not whether black or white 

They be who strive to make her free; 

They seek the sun at darkest night 
And prove their right to liberty. 

I know not whether black or white 

Nor care, since Lincoln's strong arm caught 
The curled whip o'er the bondman's back 

And a wronged people's freedom wrought! 

A Latin people gave us aid 

And dared for us to break a lance; 

To Cuba let the debt be paid 
We owe to liberty and France! 

Hark! the long Caribbean wave 

Moans on the island beach and dies ; 

We, with our lion's strength to save, 
Feel the shame growing in our eyes. 



51 



No! we are not a coward land! 

A sword-flash with our sympathy! 
Let us help rear, with practised hand, 

A new republic of the sea! 

January, 1898. 



52 



"BLESS THOU THE GUNS" 

HID in earth's caverns deep, 
In the cold ores asleep, 
Or in the lightning's thrall, 
Force waits for Freedom's call! 
Out of Thy mountains old 
Thou gav'st the iron we mold, 
And the stern, tempered steel 
To liberty we seal. 
May we Thy gifts of might 
Use well to serve the right; 
And may our solemn wrath 
Leave clear for peace a path — 
Bless Thou the guns ! 

Not worn with ancient hate 
We the first shock await; 
53 



Not that our Saxon kin 
Hemmed the Armada in, 
But that Thy word may be 
No empty prophecy; 
That faith may rise, restored 
By the avenging sword, 
We out of peaceful ways 
Turn to %he power that slays. 
Out of the battle's flame 
Lord, bring us free from blame — 
Bless Thou the guns ! 

Lord, at our very door, 
Death clutches at Thy poor, 
And stricken liberty 
Raises her hand to Thee; 
Lord, 'tis our task to do 
If Thy own word be true! 
Thou who the bright stars blent 
In the flag's firmament — 



54 



Thou who to Freedom's hand 
Gav'st the new western land, 
Thou who didst Israel lead 
Forth, free of Pharaoh's greed- 
Bless Thou the guns ! 



April, 1898. 



55 



THE HORNS 

MY soul had died for joy what time 
The violin sang out alone, 
And requiem bells in solemn chime 
Grieved through the viol's moan. 

Then harp and 'cello led me on 

Through maze of tender harmonies, 

Beyond the hour, beyond the dawn, 
Beyond the utmost seas. 

But through that realm by music bound, 
Like a bold blast of freshening air, 

Sudden I heard the trumpets sound 
With harsh and militant blare. 

Then, as to Joshua's trumpet-call, 
Seven days repeated, Jericho 

Yielded its stern, reluctant wall, 
So were such dreams brought low; 
56 



And, their poor ruin quickly spurned, 
Into fierce conflict I was hurled, 

Where fields and cities brightly burned. 
And battle shook the world. 



57 



BELLONA 

(Gerome's Statue) 

WHAT wanton bold, exultant in her 
shame, — 
What monster art thou in this woman's 
guise? 
Think'st thou with blatant shout the world to 
tame, 
Or awe man with thy terrible great eyes? 

Thou art Bellona, the fell scourge of earth, 
Who set'st for man his false, ignoble goals ; 

Thou the destroyer of love and bane of mirth, 
Thou the relentless trafficker in souls. 

Death's lure thou art, on his dark mischief bent, 
In splendor clad his livery gray to hide; 

His cry thou bellowest from the battlement; 
On ruddy fields before him thou dost ride. 

58 



Art thou so glorious? Are thy deeds so great? 

Canst thou awake earth's myriad slaughtered 
hosts, 
Or summon from the sea's unpillared gate 

Thy drowned armada-sepulcher of ghosts? 

I cower not before thy shining blade 

Thou hold'st upraised and bloodily dost wield; 

Nor fear the serpent that doth give thee aid, 
Nor shrink before the radiance of thy shield. 

Where thou destroy'st I build; where thou dost 
blight 
My hands restore; I thy lorn thralls release; 
My pinions touch thy darkened world with light 
And healing for its wounds: Lo, I am 
Peace ! 



59 



A TENANT 

THIS spirit with its boundaries wide 
Is not my own to hold in fee; 
Through all my days therein I bide 
As one of God's great tenantry. 

'Tis not as unsown fallow land 

To lie, the playground of wild weeds, 

But lent me from the Sovereign's hand 
To grow the fruitage of fair deeds. 

And I ill-pay His faith and trust 
If the field be but weakly tilled, — 

Unsown the rich unbroken crust, 
Or sown in labor feebly-willed. 

But 'tis for me to tend my field 
Till white with harvest my life be, 

And I full-handed bring its yield 
In proof of honest tenancy. 
60 



NEW YEAR'S COLLECT 

LORD, another year has wrought 
Changes with deep meaning fraught; 
Give us larger understanding 
Of the lessons Thou hast taught. 

By Thy hand our stars were sent 
Forth into the firmament; 

Help us lift our starry guidon 
To the height of Thy intent! 

Slow in anger to condemn, 
May we Wrong's dull tide-wave stem 
With the righteous wrath of Sinai, 
And the love of Bethlehem! 

Oh, 'twere shameful if, at last, 
All forgetful of the past, 

We should weld in roaring forges 
Tyrant chains to bind us fast! 
61 



In our hearts let hatred cease, 
And tranquillity increase; 

Teach us that the God of Battles 
Is not less the God of Peace. 

It sufficeth not that we 
High before the world stand free, — 
We must still with infinite striving 
O'er ourselves the victors be! 

In our pride doth lurk defeat 
If with dragon-wrongs we treat; 

Strengthen us that, like Saint Michael, 
We may break them 'neath our feet! 



62 



FROM BETHLEHEM TO CALVARY 



F 



ROM Bethlehem to Calvary, the Saviour's 
journey lay; 
Doubt, unbelief, scorn, fear and hate beset Him 

day by day, 
But in His heart He bore God's love that 
brightened all the way. 



O'er the Judean hills He walked, serene and 

brave of soul, 
Seeking the beaten paths of men, touching and 

making whole, 
Dying at last for love of man, on Calvary's 

darkened knoll. 



63 



He went with patient step and slow, as one 

who scatters seed; 
Like a fierce hunger in His heart, He felt the 

world's great need, 
And the negations Moses gave He changed to 

loving deed. 

From Bethlehem to Calvary the world still fol- 
lows on, 

Even as the halt and blind of old along His 
path were drawn; 

Through Calvary's clouds they seek the light 
that led Him to the dawn. 



64 



MEA CULPA 

NCE I have seen you press against your 
heart 

A hand, in sudden pain; 
Oh! it was mine, the pain, the cruel smart! 



O 



Once, only, pain made shadow in your eyes — 

My own were void of light, 
For they the seas are that reflect your skies. 

By day or night the clenching hand I see, 

And eyes by pain possessed; 
There is no other sight or thought for me. 

This penance ceaselessly I must withstand — 

The pain in your sad eyes, 
And close against your heart the clenching 
hand. 

65 



NEWS 

SWIFT runners through the Mahdi's land 
Dart tirelessly to bear the word 
When first the hot Egyptian sand 
By some mysterious foe is blurred. 

Through listless tropic jungles speed 
Dark men, alert, intent and keen, 

Who bid their scattered tribesmen heed 
Some startling portent they have seen. 

Lithe island messengers ply deep 
Their paddles in the southern sea, 

When first on dim horizons creep 
Strange masted things of mystery. 



66 



Slow rousing from his night of days 

The Eskimo awakes, reborn, 
Hearing first time, in awed amaze, 

A gun salute the Arctic morn. 

O'er desert sand and 'neath the sea 
The lightning's instant message goes, 

To tell the whole world speedily 

What now some lonely village knows. 

We scan the path outside the door 
By day and night, with eager eyes, 

And only things unknown before 

Can yield the charm of fresh surprise. 

The gossip of the world flies fast, 
The idlest rumors far are blown, 

And swiftly gathered to the past 

Are all the deeds an hour has known. 



67 



FOR A PIONEER'S MEMORIAL 

ACROSS the world the ceaseless march of 
^ man 

Has been through smoldering fires, left by 
the bold, 
Who first beyond the guarded outposts ran 
And saw with wondering eyes new lands un- 
rolled — 
Who built the hut in which a home began, 
And round a camp-fire's ashes broke the 
mold. 



68 



ORCHARDS BY THE SEA 

ALONG the northern coast they stand, 
" These groups of rugged apple-trees, 
Grim outposts of the fruitful land, 
Defying winds and seas. 

The waves that beat the rocks below 
For long have shaken branch and root, 

Yet the gnarled boughs again will show 
Their meager yield of fruit. 

And inland apples, softly kissed 
On quiet boughs by dew and rain, 

Unflavored by the salt-sea mist, 
Untaught by the sea's pain, — 

But tamely live, and never share 
Those secrets of the elder seas 

Once held inviolate by the fair 
Fruits of Hesperides. 
69 



IRELAND 

IRELAND, weary mother sitting, 
Lorn amid thy seas ; 
When shall thy far-scattered children 

Gather at thy knees? 
Thou art worn and old and broken, 

Thou art lean and cold, 
When shall they again assemble 

In thine island fold? 
They are aliens, they are wanderers, 

Driven far to roam, 
But with querulous voice thou call'st them, 

Call'st thy children home. 

Other lands thou gav'st to freedom, 

Through thy dauntless sons ; 
O'er the round world they are buried 

Dead beneath their guns; 
70 



Seeking liberty thou sent'st them 

Through far field and flood, 
But they may not fight thy battles, 

Shed for thee their blood! 
Other soil has known their valor, 

Willing heart and daring hand, 
But again thy voice is calling, 

Calling home to motherland. 

Thou art in thine age majestic, 

Queenly in thy rags, 
Like an eagle mother stricken 

In her native crags — 
Who, in her riven place of nesting 

Sees by cruel hands far-flung 
Her new brood of fledgling eaglets, 

And cries fiercely for her young! 
Ah, thou, too, art lonely, dreaming 

In thy desolate home apart, 
Yet thy foes may break thy pinions, 

But they can not break thy heart! 



71 



Thou art still a royal mother 

By no child disowned; 
To thy loyal sons and daughters 

Thou art still enthroned! 
Let thy fingers, slow and feeble, 

That were once so quick and strong, 
Wake thy harp's note, that, exultant, 

Led of old a nation's song; 
And thy dimming eyes shall brighten 

Through the full-flood of thy tears, 
As thou hear'st afar thy children 

Marching home across the years. 



72 



WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY 

^JWIFT as a meteor and as quickly gone 
^-J A train of cars darts swiftly through the 

night, — 
Scorning the woods and fields it hurries on, 
A thing of wrathful might. 

There, from a farmer's home a woman's eyes, 
Roused by the sudden jar and passing flare, 

Follow the speeding phantom till it dies — 
An echo on the air. 

Narrow the life that always has been hers, 
The evening brings a longing to her breast; 

Deep in her heart some aspiration stirs 
And mocks her soul's unrest. 



73 



Her tasks are mean and endless as the days, 
And sometimes love can not repay all things; 

An instrument that, rudely touched, obeys, 
Becomes discordant strings. 

The train that followed in the headlight's flare, 
Bound for the city and a larger world, 

Made emphasis of her poor life of care, 
As from her sight it whirled. 

Thus from all lonely hearts the great earth 
rolls, 
Indifferent though one woman grieve and 
die; 
Along its iron track are many souls 
That watch the world go by. 



74 



GRACE CHIMES 

LEAD, kindly light," I heard the glad 
bells ring, 
And thought how God existeth everywhere; 
*Twas in a city strange that, sweetest thing! 
"Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells 

ring, 
And summer quickened in the heart of spring, 

For where the kind light leadeth all is fair. 
"Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells 
ring, 
And thought how God existeth everywhere. 



75 



A 



DERELICT 
HOPE once sailed me through the summer 



sea, 

And bravely through the waves I plowed my 
way; 
The captain and his crew in praise of me 
Sang all the happy day. 

Forth on my spars the nimble seamen drew 
The snowy sheets to catch the sturdy breeze; 

I thought, "How blest am I with captain, crew 
And willing sails like these." 

A great storm came and to my very heart 
I felt the shattering wind that charged and 
wheeled, 
Driving me into deeps no guiding chart 
Had ever yet revealed. 

76 



On calm sea meadows fell the gradual dawn ; 

Lifeless and helpless on the waves I lay, 
By winds and ocean currents guided on 

And with no hand to stay. 

For my good captain and his merry crew 
Abandoned me when, snapping like a reed, 

One tall mast fell; quick to their boats they 
flew — 
Cowards in my dire need. 

My rudder does the waves' behest, my keel 
Unheedfully skims over hidden bars; 

I answer not the noon sun's fierce appeal 
Nor challenges of stars. 

No longer matters it if storms prevail; 

Of my decrepitude the waves make sport; 
My decks will never hear a welcome hail 

From any wide-armed port. 



77 



Or far or near pass joyous peopled ships 
And gaze at me with strange distrustful 
eyes; 
Through fogs their pilots steer with tightened 
lips 
Lest my dread ghost arise. 



78 



o 



THE WAYWARD MUSE 



N pleasant days I'm prone to shirk 
My well-planned hours of indoor work; 



I find that fleetly speeds the time, 

With no words caught in nets of rhyme. 

I see my muse (the inconstant fay!) 
Across the threshold dart away, 

And through the woodland disappear 
When first the breath of spring is here. 

On all the long, bright summer days 
She guides me through enchanted ways, — 

Through meadows fair, by singing brooks, 
And scorns to speak of men or books! 

79 



When autumn's golden days are brief, 
And earthward slants the withered leaf, 

She leads me down the street's long aisle 
Into the country, many a mile! 

But when the skies in gray are set 
And all our pleasant walks are wet; 

When keen winds blow and snows are deep, 
At home we twain our vigil keep. 

She sits there in the ingle-nook 

And dreams, or turns some mellow book, 

And tends my fire, or, happiest chance! 
Bends on my page her favoring glance. 

Now I am glad when I can see 
The summer skies arched over me, 

And glad, when bluebirds bring me news, 
To follow country ward the muse; 

80 



But well I love these golden times 
When from the fire I coax my rhymes ; 

When in the flame of hickory wood 
I read new poems, sweet and good: 

For then I need not turn the key 
To keep my faithless muse with me; 

I need not threaten, then, nor scold, 
At home that errant girl to hold! 

For when the first thin snows appear, 
Her foot upon the step I hear, 

And she steals in with smiling face, 
Again to her remembered place, 

And in her peaceful corner croons 
Light-hearted songs of bloomy Junes, — 

Or, haply, she and I together 
Send song-barbed shafts against the weather! 

81 



T 



MEMORY 



HIS hour the fateful tide runs up the 
beach, 



As the sea wills it; 
It seeks each hollow loved of yesterday, 
Finds it, and fills it. 



82 



UNMAPPED 

WHOSE hand shall limn the final chart, 
Complete, with every stream that 
flows, 
With pathways which the bold of heart 
Have trampled through the Polar snows? 

Perchance to-morrow's sun will shine 
On outposts by some desolate shore 

Where man's advancing picket-line 
Must pause and camp forevermore. 

E'en now the wide-strewn island host 
Within the map's net has been drawn, 

And soon no mere adventurous boast 
Shall lure the tropic traveler on. 



83 



But when the maps are finished quite, 
And all the stranger world is known, 

Still shall abide the elusive light 

On coasts where Fancy's winds are blown. 

And fearless eyes for long may strain, 
And steady hands may guide the helm; 

But none may ever hope to gain 

The farthest shore of Fancy's realm. 



84 



JOHN TYNDALL 

Obiit December 4, 1893 

SERENE on cheerless seas he drove his 
bark, 
Skirting with dauntless heart the ignor- 
ant shores ; 
Crossed roaring reefs and set his finder's mark 
Beyond Imagination's open doors. 



The oldest mysteries of this spinning ball 
He solved, and at the door of Silence beat, 

Nor was dismayed by echoes of his call 
That broke afar, his purpose to defeat. 



85 



The potent elements of giant force, 
The heat and light girt on the earth's 
great tire 
He watched, as fast it flies its channeled 
course 
Along a daily changing track of fire. 

Nor as a dreamer who may vigil keep, 
Seeing the mighty planets spin afar, 

But with precision sounding deep on deep 
And linking to the lamp the golden star. 

High on the muffled line of ice and snow 
He sought where others had not dared to 
seek; 
There Knowledge made for him a new dawn's 
glow, 
Lighting his beacon at the farthest peak. 



86 



THE DEAD ARCHER 
Maurice Thompson, Obiit February 15, 1901 

THROUGH what dim alleys of the wood 
Has he, the keen-eyed archer, gone? 
By what bright lakes and bubbling streams 
And o'er what golden hills of dawn? 

Nor here nor there he gains the trail 
His eager feet have known of old, — 

No eye may mark his careful track 
Printed upon the winter mold! 

Yet all the faint elusive things 

His spirit knew and counted good, 

Hark to the archer going forth 

Through the still, twilight-shadowed wood. 

And where afar the dying sun 
Burns in the west its fiery mark, 

Still with his song the archer goes, 
Unawed into the Greater Dark; 
87 



Nor knows that he has crossed the line 
Long set to be the bound for men; 

Nor knows that when the long trail ends 
He never can return again! 

His woodman's craft at last has failed, 
At last the archer's eyes betray; — 

His own song lures him down the path, — 
His own song lights the darkening way! 

The echoes fainter fall and die, 

And grieving winds from cold seas blow, 
Moaning above the gathering dark: 

"It was not time for him to go!" 

For him there still was much to do 
To stay the audit hand of time, — 

New bows to bend, new trails to seek, 
New songs to wed to mellow rhyme. 



88 



In youth the bugle's challenge note 
Had led him 'mid the clang of war, 

But happier he to roam the fields 
An archer and a troubadour! 

When clouds hung near and woods were gray 
In olden books renowned and wise, 

He learned the miracle that makes 
Bright pages of the dullest skies ; 

And songs he gathered from o'er seas 
With his own music woke and sang, 

Till through the unhindering western hills 
Hymns of immortal singers rang. 

But not in alien soil he sought 
The faded trappings of romance; 

He saw by western elm and beech 

Fresher enchantments flash and dance; 



89 



And dipped his blade and sped his shaft 
In valleys men have little known, 

Hearing faint chimes from elfland towers, 
Mingled with songs the wind had sown. 

His heart was like a bow of yew 

That nature tempers fine and strong, 

And from it the glad arrows went 
Keen with the music of his song. 

April her brimming cloud will bring, 
And May her odorous charm repeat, 

But here no more the happy grass 
Will leap beneath the archer's feet. 

Still, in far glades and by clear streams, 
Where soft airs blow and glad birds wing, 

The blithe, brave arrows of his song 

Through the bright weather fly and sing! 



90 



Spirits that guard the woodland paths, 
And lie in wait beside the streams, 

Lead him where he shall find anew 

Green meadows, and his morning dreams ! 



91 



"SHE GATHERS ROSES" 

O WINTER night, O muffling snows, 
From dolorous mountain summits blown! 
So wild the night, so bleak and cold, 
'Twas far to send a child alone ! 

But from our own poor watch and ward, 
And our weak aims and needs and fears, 

Her spirit sped and left behind 

The untouched harvest of her years. 

Blessed are they, who, old and worn, 
Across the threshold creep at last, 

With many a lingering glance behind 
At the gray shadow-peopled past! 

But thrice more blessed they who look 

Scarce through the door Time opens wide, 

Then back into the Father's arms, 

From earth's untranquil strivings hide. 

92 



And whether Heaven indeed may be 
A gated city, builded strong, 

That hath no need of stars or sun 
To light the beatific throng; 

Or whether in the home of spring 
The haven lie of flower and grass, 

O'er which the elect with tranquil mien 
Through a perpetual morning pass, 

I know not, yet however fair 

May be God's hidden garden-lands, 

I know that there, with happy heart, 
She gathers roses in her hands. 

The autumn gave her, and her eyes 

Knew never spring's enchantment sweet, 

Nor saw the mighty summer stars 
Above the still earth throb and beat; 



93 



And yet she loved the light, and turned 
In childish wonder toward its glow, — 

She loved the light! and now has seen 
The light perpetual round her flow. 

Kingdom of Heaven, toward which we pray, 
Whether alight of sun or star, — 

Kingdom of Heaven toward which we yearn, 
"Tis there the little children are! 

They keep for us, secure and sweet, 
Youth, unassailed by winter's rime, 

And are a hostage given to be 

Our shield against the wars of time. 

And there amid the ways of peace, 

Through Christ's love-lighted garden-lands, 

She wanders with untroubled heart, 
And gathers roses in her hands. 

January 30, 1901, 



94 



VOICES OF CHILDREN 

VOICES of children breaking 
On eve's delaying hour; 
Voices in low mirth calling 

From the dusky garden-bower; — 
They mock the late robin's chanting, 

They call the young moon in glee, — 
And through the sweet lingering twilight 

They steal in to me. 
Shy girl with your low glad laughter, 

Wee boy with your bubbling mirth, 
The odorous garden around you 

Is a playground 'twixt Heaven and earth 
And what can I do to keep you, 

O sweetest and dearest twain, 
Ignorant of earth's harsh discords 

And free of its stress and pain? 



95 



Soft treble and golden laughter 

Fall faint through the starry eve; 
And the robin in the maple 

Wings home and ceases to grieve; 
While with drowsy step and reluctant 

To their cots the children climb, 
Their throats still bubbling laughter 

And their lips still murmuring rhyme. 
I turn away to the garden 

Their good night sweet in my ears, 
And ponder and dream and wonder 

At the mist- veiled tide of years; 
Ah! if only the mirth and laughter 

From their hearts might never die; 
If the sweet, shy awe and wonder 

In their gaze might always lie! 
But the slim, young moon fades westward; 

The night wind murmurs low, 
And above me the planets question 

What man nor star may know. 



96 



AT THE MONUMENT 

TV 4TY little child about the Monument, 
"^ A Climbs with slow step and awed and 
wondering eyes, 
And in soft treble questions me and tries 
To gather something of the shaft's intent. 
And as on me her trusting gaze is bent 
And she repeats her many "whens" and 

"whys," 
She hears, as of some fable of the skies, 
Why the gray column toward the heavens is 
sent. 

And I am moved, thinking how tales of wars 
Mean not so much to her as foolish rhyme 

In her sweet ignorance of wounds and scars! 
This is a plot to play in for a time, — 

The shaft a mighty pillar of the stars 
With easy steps for baby feet to climb! 

97 



MARJORIE 

AN arch of blue above a quiet lake, 
L And still low shores where languid rip- 
ples break: 
In quiet deeps of wood the brooding June 
Watches the shadows of late afternoon, 
And o'er the water idle swallows slip 
With startled cries, to find their wings adrip ! 
But pleasantest of all it is to see 
There, in the swaying hammock, Marjorie, 
Repeating rhythmic tales the while her eyes 
Mirror the lake, the wood, the shore, the skies. 
Her grave voice leads afar through golden ways 
Up sunny slopes among the fair dream days, 
Where trumpets faintly blow from guarded walls 
And Youth (or Marjorie!) the answer calls. 



98 



HORATIO AT ELSINORE 

rTlHERE is no luck at Elsinore 

-*- Since death came by and barred the door. 
None enters now save ghost of thee, — 
(And ghosts of every lock make free!) 
The bat and owl now rule alone, 
And spiders weave about the throne; 
Never has there been any rest 
Since jealous hate was here a guest; 
And never more shall prince or king 
Know love, or any kindly thing; 
So through the chilling autumn rain 
I call, and do not call in vain, — 
Good night, sweet Prince! 

The watchman in the lonely tower 
Calls plaintively the passing hour, 
And I who walk the parapet, 
My face with autumn rain made wet, 
Have bartered all my hopes for fears, 
My future days for vanished years. 

99 



I — I alone at night may stand 
Where once the Prince held fast my hand, 
Or walk, where once as brothers twain 
We walked, and shall not walk again; 
And dreaming thus I cry to him, 
Across the Deathland's border dim, 
Good night, sweet Prince! 

I promised that the world should know 
The wretched crimes that wrought his woe; 
And long to dull, unwilling ears 
Have I discoursed, and known the jeers 
Of doubt or mere contempt. I pause 
At last, and leave my dead friend's cause! 
I know that it is well with him 
Beyond the Deathland's border dim. 
Though luck be not at Elsinore 
Her shame and wrong touch him no more. 
So through the cheerless autumn rain 
I cry, and do not cry in vain — 
Good night, sweet Prince! 



100 



LABOR AND ART 

WITH bits of metal, ivory and wood 
Man makes an instrument and calls it 
good; 
But he that wrought with joy the fair design 
Can not evoke the hidden chords divine. 



101 



I 



THE BLIND BOYS 



SAW three blind boys in the park at play, 
Piling with murmurous glee 



The new-fallen leaves that round about them 

lay, 
And rearing them in forms they could not see. 
Their sealed eyes had not known 
The spring's leaves when new-blown, 
Caught high on boughs they might not hold 

or touch, 
Yet they found sweet 
These poor, dead, crumpled things about their 

feet. 
And passing them thus, I thought 
That from the fair green tree of life not much 
Is ever within sight or touch 
Through the bright springs and summers of 

our years, — 

102 



We, too, are blind! — 

The blindness of weak faith and idle fears, 

And reaching we scarce find 

The budding leaves when they are young and 

sweet, 
And gain them only at last 
When on the earth, about us they are cast 
To be a worthless plaything 'neath our feet. 



103 



IN THE STREET 

1MET a dusky foreign woman, young 
And curiously dressed, 
With quaint coins hung 
Above the yellow kerchief on her breast; 
And by her side 
A little child, dark-eyed, 

Clutching some foolish plaything in its hand. 
Such then, I thought, as these 
We pick as flotsam from the ancient seas, — 
The tossed and helpless straws upon the flood- 
And bring to this new land, 
To share what we have wrought with Saxon 

blood. 
And you, with pedagogic lore, 
Insistent that we close the great wide-open 

door, — 
Chide me not in hard supercilious tone! 

104 



I am as proud as you 

Of Saxon liberty and Saxon law, 

Promised of old and by our hands reared true, 

Yet would not stand apart 

While under Pharaoh other peoples moan. 

That half-barbaric child 

With fear and awe 

Of long-dead Caesars lurking in its heart, 

God does not quite disown, 

And we are weak if we may be defiled! 



105 



MIRIAM: AT A CONCERT 

WHEN the great chords with mighty 
tumult rose, 
Far-borne upon the trumpets' brazen cry, 
While the sad 'cellos mourned and over all 
As from spring meadows sang the violins ; — 
When on dim shadowy frontiers the soul heard 
Not sound nor melody nor taunting theme, 
But challenge from a fairer world than ours, — 
'Twas then I saw you through the listening 

throng, 
Lips parted, dark eyes wondering and grave, 
Head reverently bent and fingers clasped 
To stay their trembling. What did you behold 
On those near coasts of golden harmonies? 
Did Israel's fallen harp wake in your blood 
A hymn of glorious deeds on sacred plains? 
Heard you the crash of trumpet-shaken walls, 

106 



Or, 'neath the moan of viols and call of 

drums, 
The hosts of Zion clanging forth to war? 

Ah me! Your snowy throat breaks in a sob 
And tears are bright in your dream-haunted 

eyes 
As the bold chords climb to the heights and die; 
For you have seen a world-old pageant pass, 
And the dumb sorrows of a thousand years 
Have clutched your simple girl-heart; you have 

known 
The ghetto's squalor, cringed beneath the 

knout, 
Flinched at the bargains of the market-place, 
But heard from Time's gray gulfs the ring- 
ing voice 
Of Deborah, lifting Israel's fallen spears, 
Marshaling the starry hosts 'gainst Sisera! 



107 



AILEEN 

THE gods were sad the night that she was 
born: 
The faery lights shone over darkling moors, 
And voices whispering through the lonely hills 
Stole seaward to dark shores and told the waves, 
And wave and star conferred in wonderment. 
The gods were sad the night that she was born. 

She sang to-night, and in her voice I heard 
Those whispers and those voices and beheld 
The faery lights, and from the plaintive shore 
Saw wave and star commune. . . . She does 

not know 
How in her eyes the ancient marvels burn, 
Or that the dreams flow in her blood like 

stars 



108 



On quiet floods by night. There at the harp 
Her voice caught up the centuries in a song 
As old as heartache and as young as morn; 
And armour rang and spears were glad with 

blood . . . 
Ah me! Those eyes, that voice, that eerie cry! 
The gods were sad the night that she was 

born! 



109 






TO THE SEASONS 

SEASONS that pass me by in varied mood, 
As on the imaging land you leave a trace, 
Molding sometime a delicate flower's sweet face, 
Touching again with green the somber wood, 
Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood, — 
Am I not worthy as they to find a place 
In your remembrance? Am I made too base 
To know what weed and thorn have understood? 

Fair vernal time, I need your quickening 

Even as the sleeping earth! O summer heat, 
Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring 
Full hands to autumn when above me beat 
The serious winds; and winter, make me 

strong 
Like the glad music of your battle song! 



110 



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